My motivation is waning.
I still need to downsize, to simplify. I feel like I’m sleeping in a closet, and my eyes have nowhere to rest because there is clutter on every horizontal surface. Too much furniture, too many toys, too much stuff…and all of it breeds dust bunnies and invites even more complication in trying to keep everything clean.
I feel like I’m starting from scratch. The kind of scratch I began from when I was newly married, except now I have a 6yo with Down syndrome who runs around like a 2yo, and I have a 2yo who runs around like, well, a 2yo. And I’m sitting to nurse every few hours and between those times, carrying her around with one arm while trying to manage and conduct the rest of the household with the other.
I move from room to room, confused at times. What do I get rid of? What do I just pack up and put aside? And, if I choose to put it aside, WHERE? In the utility room that stays damp and cultivates mildew and mold? I refuse to rent a storage unit. And I *know* a bigger house isn’t the answer.
The crazy thing is that I love pictures of homes that are completely decluttered, full of light and space and shine. The chair with two books. The table with a few apples. The children’s bed with a single teddy bear on top. Maybe they’re fake. But they resonate with me, they call me to peace.
So I have that sort of thing in mind, and then I wander into a room and feel the deflatement in my heart.
I have a dozen books just on the subject of writing (that I’ve already read). Two drawers overflowing with table linens (that I never use). Stacks of wooden toddler toys (that no one plays with). Platters I never pile foods on, audio tapes I never play, and clothing I keep “just in case”.
Why don’t I just sell them? Donate them?
I’ll tell you why.
I already DID all of that. I already sent van loads and van loads (and van loads) of stuff away. I already sold driveways-full of garage sale things. And what is left is, basically, the stuff I LIKE.
So I’m stuck in this weird world of being completely unhappy with how things are, and yet being my own worse enemy. It’s like I’m addicted to my stuff. And the other dumb thing is that I can hardly remember any of the things that have already went, so I’m sure it wouldn’t kill me to prune some more.
Guilt doesn’t work (think of all the people who don’t have as much!) and neither does re-organizing (and re-organizing). Much like any change, it’s hard. It’s painful. It involves a little bit of spunk and a spark of courage. It involves a plan (today: the cookbooks!).
But as I said, the motivation is up and down. Right now it’s down (and I’ve escaped into blogging instead). Downsizing is not all Pinterest-pretty. Sometimes it’s not even worth a photo at all.
Plugging away (most days),